An hour later, they had nearly finished tacking the canvas in place when the door to the warehouse suddenly flew open. Anna looked up to see Mrs. Drapple practically fly into the room, the skirt of her green dress whipping behind her. She wore a pink apron over the dress and no coat, although it had to be thirty-five degrees outside. Her blond hair was loose around her shoulders. Anna had only seen her once before—during that nasty altercation on the library steps, when Mrs. Drapple wore a scarf and gave her a terrible chewing-out. She’d looked old and haggard that day, but now, as she blew into the warehouse with high color in her cheeks and her hair wind tossed, she looked quite beautiful. And quite furious.

“I thought I’d find you here!” she shouted at Martin. She stood near the stretcher, hands in fists at her sides, and all five of them looked up at her in shock. At least, Anna was in shock. She was also a little afraid. She felt protective of Jesse and Peter. They were her charges and she simply didn’t know what this deranged woman might do. She was aware of Pauline hopping off her chair and backing up against the warehouse wall, out of harm’s way. For no good reason whatsoever, Mrs. Drapple’s presence made Anna feel guilty, as though she had stolen Martin away from her. Or at least, she’d stolen his time from her and his family.

Martin stood up from the floor where he’d been working with the canvas. He dusted off his hands and moved toward his wife, almost casually, as though he were not terribly concerned about her intrusion. “What are you doing here?” he asked, quite unkindly.

“What do you think?” she yelled, arms flailing in the air. “I’m looking for my husband, who people tell me is spending his days with her!” She pointed in Anna’s direction. Anna’s hands froze on the stretcher.

Martin laughed, and the sound was mocking. “I’m not spending my days with anyone,” he said. “I merely stopped in to help out with this canvas.”

Karl got to his feet then, looking powerful in his uniform. Authoritarian. Anna was glad he was there. He took a step toward Martin and his wife. “How about the two of you go out—”

“You lost out to her!” Mrs. Drapple jerked her chin toward Anna, who didn’t think the woman had heard a word Karl said. “You lost out to a girl artist. You ain’t near as good as a girl, that’s what the judges said, and—”

“Shut up!” Martin bellowed, and Anna’s heart began to pound. “This isn’t your business!”